


Hemorrhage

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Alternate Reality: Zombies, Darkfic, Gen, Minor Violence, Prompt Fic, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Herrington is overrun by zombies, the group of four gathers at Zeke's place, hoping for a safe shelter. Unfortunately, the infection is vile and vicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hemorrhage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabyDracky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyDracky/gifts).



> Important warning in the end notes. However, it spoils the story.
> 
>  **Setting:** Alternate Reality: Zombies

 

Casey ducked behind a trash container, melting into the shadows. His mind raced in the attempt to fit the pieces together, but to no avail. None of this made much sense, no matter how hard he tried.

It was bad. Truly, seriously, fucked-up, bad-ass bad.

The vile smell that crept through every street still disgusted him, although three days of this nightmare-come-true should have been enough for him to get used to it by now. His stomach revolted continuously, but he hadn't thrown up, not yet, though the discovery of his torn-to-pieces parents on the front lawn had been almost disturbing enough.

A sudden indeterminate sound made him jump in his hiding place. Casey's eyes darted around, but he couldn't spot anything dangerous. He spotted nothing at all, in fact; the back alley was as empty and dark as it had been before, with only a lone can being blown over the asphalt. He let out his breath without noticing he had even held it, and opened his backpack to inspect his errands: some bottles of water, a few apples and a great amount of chocolate bars for Delilah. Not exactly nutritious, but at least she wouldn't starve to death, and maybe the sugar would make her stop bitching. Casey didn't count on it, though.

The boy put his hand deeper into the backpack. He knew the books, batteries and several other items Zeke had ordered were right there, along with Stokely's tampons (“You need _what_?”—“Geez, grow up, Casey.”), but he wanted to _make sure_ they were. Zeke would not let him go out again if he failed; it seemed he didn't trust him too much anyway.

Casey checked his watch: 8:25 pm; he was quite satisfied to be back so soon—and unharmed, despite the fact he had refused to take a weapon.

“Seriously,” he'd laughed, “I wouldn't dare to get close enough to slash them, and if I took your gun . . . well, I'd probably send a bullet right through my own foot. Don't worry, though—I'm speedy!”

He was indeed, and that was the only reason why he still breathed. The next time, however, he'd not deny the Smith & Wesson, even though Casey doubted whether he would actually use it. Yet its weight alone, and knowing he _had_ a weapon to defend his dear life, would make him feel safer. He understood why Zeke kept it within reach lately.

Another look down the alley proved it was still empty. Casey called upon his courage, nodded and stepped back out. Only two more streets to cross and he'd walk right into the infection-free haven of Casa del Tyler. The boy chuckled at the thought and started running.

Much to his surprise, he got there all right. He met only a small group of _them_ , and they were easy to avoid.

~ ~ ~

“Zeke, it's pointless. We won't find _this_. Anywhere.” Casey spoke low to not wake the girls who were cuddled up on the couches, sleeping.

“We have to find _some_ thing helpful.” Zeke didn't look up from the medical compendium he was studying. The boy was pale and tired, his eyes heavy, yet he refused to take a break, and Casey secretly admired his determination.

“Okay. Fine,” he sighed, cursing his own exhaustion. “Let's go through our notes again, shall we? We might have missed something.”

Zeke held out his hand to hush the boy. When he finished the last paragraph on RNA viruses, he put the book down, lit a smoke and stood up to pace the floor. “All right. Let's start with the symptoms. Necrosis, obviously. What causes necrosis?”

Casey scanned through his own notes. "Certain spider and snake venoms.”

“Stick to what is of serious interest, Case. I got a fucking headache.”

“All right, all right. How about Group A streptococcus? It's called 'flesh-eating' bacteria. It doesn't match the other symptoms, though, and I have no clue about the ways of contagion.”

“Mark it as possible.”

Casey did as he was told.

“I think it's a blood disease, and spreading by contact infection,” Zeke went on. “It isn't aerobic, since if it was, we'd all have it by now. Do you agree?”

“I agree. It could mutate, though.”

“Fuck. I really don't care what it _could_ do, I wanna know what it _is doing_. If we only could get a sample . . . ” Zeke flicked his tongue.

“ . . . we'd still need a level 5 hazmat lab to examine it, and, oh, genius: would you actually want to get _this_ close? Getting a useful sample alone is enough of a suicide mission.”

“Stop telling me shit I already know. I'm thinking possibilities, Jesus Christ.”

“Just saying.”

Zeke came back to the table and lit another smoke. Casey raised an eyebrow, but spared him any comment. Their eyes met for a second, and it struck the boy how much desperation he saw. He swallowed, then he looked back down on his notes to prevent himself from being affected. If Zeke started to freak out about this, they'd all be in serious trouble; he was their leader, he kept his cool and he knew what needed to be done at any time. Without him . . . Casey refused to think any further.

“We also got hematemesis and hemoptysis,” he went on, “and I assume it infects more organs, maybe even the whole organism. Cerebral hemorrhage would explain the serious brain damage we face. Plus, it can be caused by yet another streptococcus subtype.”

Light footsteps sounded behind them. Zeke seized the revolver and spun around, holding the trigger. He found himself aiming right at Delilah, who stared back at him with indifference despite _almost_ being shot down; she nibbled at a Mars bar as if everything was fucking all right.

“Del, goddammit,” he growled. His hand was shaking violently as he slowly lowered his arm, not quite catching what happened. “How can you—Fuck, you really wanna catch a bullet, don't you?”

She gave him a chocolate smirk. “You don't have the guts to shoot me. Not even if I was infected.”

“Don't count on it. I'd blow out your lights with a smile.”

“Sure. In your dreams.”

“Nightmares,” he corrected her. “Dreaming of you definitely qualifies as such.”

“Ouch. That hit me as hard as jello.” Delilah laughed and turned to address Casey. “What were you just talking about, Einstein? Maybe I can help if you talk English.”

“Yeah, and maybe you can be a good girl and make some coffee, if you can do it without breaking a nail,” Zeke snorted before Casey could even open his mouth.

“Wow, you're being an asshole. I'm highly impressed.”

“At your service, missy.”

“Why don't you guys just fuck?”

Two pairs of eyes were fixed at Casey, displaying a mixture of disbelief and surprise. The boy shrugged. “Seriously. Stop picking on each other, cause that really ain't helpful. If a lay makes you feel better, then _go for it_. Jesus Christ. It's not exactly a secret craving, you know?”

“I'm gonna make coffee,” Delilah replied piqued after some seconds of deadly silence. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

“Fuck. Del, wait.”

Casey couldn't help but grin, despite the jealousy; sad but true, but there was no getting anywhere near Delilah for him in this life. He accepted it, yet it still hurt.

~ ~ ~

“Good morning, Stokes.”

The girl waved at Casey, yawning. “Hey,” she mumbled back. “Where is everyone?”

“Making coffee. They're gone for almost forty minutes now, so I guess that's only a metaphor.”

“Jeeeeesus.” Stokely chuckled. “It's not a rumor, hm?”

“What? That Zeke's a whore?”

They both started laughing, but the carefree moment ended abruptly when they heard the muted noise of a gun being fired once, followed by screaming and more shooting. Stokely jumped off the couch, wide awake now, her body tense.

Casey spun around to face the door leading into the house. He swallowed hard.

“Wait here,” he whispered.

“Don't—Casey, don't leave me alone.”

“We'll both be fine,” he tried to soothe her nerves, though not feeling half as calm as he made her believe. “Take the baseball bat and lock the door behind me. Don't open it, unless you have prove it's a _living_ creature demanding access.”

Casey squared his shoulders, shook Stokely's hand off and moved. He glanced back at her, readied himself, and just when he reached for the handle, the door swung open and Zeke ran right into him. Casey fell over backwards; he heard someone squeal and realized it was himself. His head hit the floor. Stars painted his vision.

“What the fuck happened?” Stokely cried and at the same time Zeke let out a tirade of _nononofuck_ —it was too much for Casey. Darkness embraced him.

~ ~ ~

“ . . . my fault!”

“Zeke, don't . . . ”

“My fucking . . . saved her, if . . . ”

The voices reached Casey from somewhere far beyond the sea of peace he was floating in. He tried to ignore them.

_I don't wanna wake up, Mommy. Not just yet, please._

The incoherence of his own thoughts carried him away again, until a loud crashing noise forced him back to reality. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up; the movement was too quick for his aching head. Casey bit his tongue at the sudden nausea, eventually succeeding in fighting it back.

He looked up, finding Stokely sitting nearby, biting her fingernails in obvious distress. Zeke was bent over the worktable, gripping the edge so hard that his knuckles turned white. It took Casey a moment or three to realize that the boy was shaking with sobs, though soundlessly.

“Fuck. What happened?”

No reply.

“Where's Del?”

Stokely turned to face him, shaking her head slowly. Casey's nausea returned.

“What—“

“She's dead, for fuck's sake!” Zeke exploded, giving the table a hard push that sent it falling over. He swirled around, his face a mask of agony. Casey flinched: the boy was blood-stained all over. Drops and traces dried on his face and in his hair, his sweater was partly torn and his arms were bruised.

“She's fucking dead, I fucking shot her! _I shot her!_ ” Zeke fell down on his knees, covering his eyes with one hand. His whole body trembled, but when he spoke again, his voice was calm, and he sounded almost indifferent despite the tears that ran down his cheeks. “In one moment we were . . . fooling around . . . and in the next second she breaks down and spits blood. Fuck. For fuck's sake.”

He looked at Casey as if the boy was able to grant him absolution.

“I had no choice. I shot her right in the face, _bam_ . . .”

Casey closed his eyes. The silence was tangible, a threatening predator.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a long time, not referring to Zeke's state of mind.

“No.”

Casey finally threw up.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, little one. Get some rest. There's nothing you can do.”

Casey refused to look at Zeke; the infection had not yet transformed him, but they all knew it was a matter of less than 24 hours. While Stokely had chosen to retreat into herself, crouched down on a mattress in the far end of the garage and darting suspicious looks at Zeke every now and again, Casey had started going through all their notes once more, desperate and feverish. He skimmed through all the books, tore pages out, scribbled down anything that seemed the least bit useful; he felt as if the devil breathed down his neck, and somehow he did.

Zeke sat down beside him. He avoided to get too close or even touch the boy, even if that was exactly what he wanted to do. He knew Casey did all he could to save him, and he didn't care whether it was only his own survival instinct or if he really gave a damn: Zeke was touched, and that rarely ever happened.

“Case. Come on.” His voice was low. “You know you can't win this war.”

“Fuck you. Since when did you give up?”

“Since I realized I am dead.”

“Bullshit!”

Zeke sighed and lowered his eyes. “Please, don't freak out now. I need you to be strong for Stokes. Can you do that?”

“No. No, I can't. You are the one who's looking after us, remember?”

“Ca-sey!” It came out as a low growl.

Zeke looked up and locked eyes with him, and Casey's panic died down a little upon the seriousness he met. He squared his shoulders, nodding. “I'll break into the hospital and try to get you some antibiotics. Tetracycline, ciprofloxacin, whatever the fuck I find. We should have thought about that earlier.”

“It won't set me right.”

“It won't kill you, either.”

“Most likely not.” Zeke smiled a sad smile.

“You _have_ given up, right?”

“I try to be realistic. My chances are probably one to ten million—there's no use in whitewash. It's the ugly truth.”

“Are you scared?”

“Fuck, yes. I'm terrified.”

Casey nodded. “I'll be back soon.”

Zeke reached out to seize his wrist, but recollected he shouldn't, and his hand stopped in mid-air for a moment before it was withdrawn to rest on the table.

Casey furrowed his brows.

“Shut me in. I shouldn't be alone with Stokes in case I . . . ”

~ ~ ~

“Wake up.” Casey touched him gently. “I got your meds.”

Zeke opened his eyes with obvious effort. His sight was blurred and he felt a little dehydrated, but apart from that, he didn't notice any other sign of illness. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or scared even more.

Casey helped him sit up and handed him a glass of water. What a good boy he was. _Such a good, tasty boy_ . . . Zeke shook his head to chase the thought away. He understood something _was_ weird about it, yet he couldn't focus.

“How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Zeke replied, though it wasn't exactly true. He emptied his glass, all the same following Casey's movements with his eyes as the boy laid out several vials, syringes and other medical stuff. He knew them all, but he wasn't able to name them; somehow he felt as if he had lost knowledge of anything not connected with food, for that was all he could think of at the moment. He made a frustrated sound.

“It's okay,” Casey hurried to say. “I'll get you something. Just let me drug you up first.” He smiled, and Zeke tried his best to smile back.

“Hey, Case,” he growled. “Since when are you so . . . fucking . . . ” Zeke stopped; he had forgotten what he wanted to say in mid-sentence. Instead, a rush of indefinable desire overcame him, making him flare his nostrils and reach out to grab Casey's arm.

The boy squirmed a little, concern painting his face. “What's wrong?” he inquired with a shaky voice. When he received no answer but the grip becoming almost painfully firm, he tensed. “Zeke?”

“Mmm . . . ” The boy _smelled_ so nice. So very delicious. Zeke's eyes crossed, his mouth watered. In a far away corner of his mind he knew this was wrong, he knew it was _bad_ , but his sane self seemed to be swept away with agonizing lust for the warmth of the body in front of him.

“Zeke. You're hurting me.”

Casey's eyes seemed unreal. Huge, blue stars floating on a nightly sky. Zeke swallowed and tasted blood. He shook his head once more; his sight became clearer. All of a sudden, he understood. It took all his willpower to let go of the boy and even push him away, but he managed to do it: he knew he had to. It might be the last chance.

“I'm losing it,” he hissed. Blood moistened his lips as he spoke.

Casey stared at him, unbelieving. Dread embraced his heart. “No,” he whispered, and then he screamed it out, unwilling to accept the truth.

Zeke closed his eyes, but couldn't prevent the tears from welling, and neither could Casey. The boy reached out to wipe away a single, salty trace of wetness on Zeke's cheek.

“Now.”

“I can't.”

“Now! Please!”

The sternness in Zeke's voice made Casey back away.

“Don't worry.” The tears choked him, and Casey had to sniffle. He stood up, readying himself for this. It wasn't fair. It was truly, seriously, fucked-up, bad-ass bad, and it wasn't _fucking fair_.

“Casey?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

He aimed at Zeke's forehead and the explosion shattered his whole world.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** Main Character Death
> 
> Written for **BunnyBash** Theme #1: Came but for friendship, and took away love. Loosely inspired by the prompt "Casey or Zeke!zombie came but for Zeke or Casey's brain, and took away heart."
> 
> Thanks to Porter for helping me identify the gun to the best of his knowledge.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful HoneyAndVinegar, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._   
> 


End file.
